


Six Words

by anextrapart



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anextrapart/pseuds/anextrapart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red and Liz, six word prompts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Red and Liz lost in woods

 

 

 

" _A hike in the Schwarzwald_ , he said," she grumbles under her breath. " _It will be fun_ , he said."  
  
"Be fair, Lizzie—it was fun up until this unfortunate incident."  
  
" _Unfortunate_ —damn it, Red, I told you we should stay on the path!"  
  
The path? Who is he, a vacationing accountant from Iowa? The _path_. "The path is for tourists."  
  
"Right, of course. Forgive me, _Magellan_. How's this expedition working out for you?"  
  
She pulls his arm further around her shoulders for support as he shifts some more weight to his unbroken ankle.  
  
"Could be better," he admits, hopping awkwardly at her side. "And Ferdinand Magellan was a sailor, Lizzie, that's hardly an apt comparison."  
  
"Sorry, do you know the names of any famous historical idiots who left the clearly marked path and fell down a gully, breaking their ankle and getting themselves lost in the process?"  
  
"…I do not."  
  
"Well that makes you the first, then. Congratulations."  
  
She deposits him on a tree stump and removes her backpack. He watches in surprise as she pulls out a first aid kit and a sat phone.  
  
"You told me that backpack was for snacks."  
  
"It is," she says, throwing a granola bar and a bottle of water at him. "It's also for rescue equipment, which is apparently essential when going _anywhere_ with you." She punches a series of numbers in the the device before returning it to the pack.  
  
"It's not that bad," he protests, having a drink and then offering her the water bottle. "Last time went with barely a hiccup."  
  
"Uh huh." She takes the bottle and drinks a few sips.  
  
"I can hardly be blamed for the whims of mother nature."  
  
"Can you be blamed for not checking the weather forecast for tropical storms?"  
  
He rubs at the back of his neck, muscles stiff and sore from his fall. "It's conceivable that I could be blamed for that, yes."  
  
She smiles a little at that, pulling an icepack from the kit and applying it to his ankle, which is hurting something terrible. "Is there a reason we can't ever do anything low-key? Or _local_?"  
  
"Everywhere is local to me," he boasts. "Why stay in DC when we could go anywhere, do anything?"  
  
"Red."  
  
"I just want it to be special," he admits quietly.  
  
"I know you do. But by my count, this is our fifth first date ending with some abrupt trauma." She takes a seat beside him and nudges the backpack with her toe. "Dembe and I have started calling this the First Date With Red Survival Pack."  
  
Well, when she puts it like that…  
  
"Do you not want to do this anymore?"  
  
"Now you're just being stupid."  
  
" _Charmingly_ stupid?" he asks hopefully.  
  
She laughs. "Definitely that."  
  
She pulls his arm back around her shoulder, cuddling close.  
  
"They'll be here within the hour to get us," she tells him. "Rest a little, we don't know how hard you hit your head."  
  
"It wasn't bad. I'm okay," he says, taking her advice anyway and shutting his eyes, kissing the top of her head before burying his face in her hair.  
  
Her hand slides up his back to rub gently at his sore neck and he groans happily.  
  
"Let's go sailing next time," he murmurs. "I have a small sailboat, you'll love it."  
  
"I'm sure I will." He feels her lips press to his chest through his shirt.  
  
"Just make sure you check the weather first."

 

 

 

-

I'm currently accepting prompts, six words or less ([x](http://anextrapart.tumblr.com/ask)) 

This prompt from: [aknightofglass ](http://aknightofglass.tumblr.com/)


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The one time Lizzie actually listened

 

 

 

He's missing a tooth.  
  
It's the least severe his injuries, barring the scrapes and bruises, but that single absent molar holds the bulk of his focus. Something about the taste of blood in his mouth, the strangeness of the gap against his cheek—he keeps pressing on it with his tongue even though it amplifies the pain, an incessant ache that radiates through his entire jaw.  
  
He smiles bitterly to himself, spits a mouthful of blood on the floor as he imagines a title to his own cautionary tale. _Idiot Man Who Should Know Better Continues To Poke At The Things He Knows Will Hurt Him Most._  
  
It was a blow to his head that knocked the tooth out, and the expression "missing a tooth" is terribly misleading in this instance—it's right over there on the floor. He could reach out and pick it up if he wanted to. He doesn't want to right now though. Later, maybe.  
  
He fuzzily thinks that he might have a head injury. Maybe his brain is bleeding like his tooth?  
  
Bleeding like his used-to-be-tooth, rather.  
  
His tooth hole? Yes.  
  
His tooth hole is bleeding.  
  
(Christ, he definitely has a head injury.)  
  
He spits out another mouthful of blood.  
  
They had a huge blowup the last time he saw her, likely more than a week ago now—he's lost count of the days in here.  
  
They both said terrible things, insults and accusations and ultimatums. Like an idiot, he told her he was leaving for a while and that she shouldn't try to contact him. He'd planned to retreat to one of his more remote properties, sent Dembe off to handle the business so he could be alone.  
  
He was taken a few days later.  
  
His captors are completely unknown to him and they've been vague thus far on what exactly it is that they want.  
  
No one knows where to look for him, is the point here.  
  
Not that anyone is looking.  
  
It's funny, it really is. The one time Lizzie actually listened.  
  
He doesn't know what he was thinking, cornering her like that. He knows better, knows she'll never choose him over… well, over anything, frankly.  
  
He runs his tongue over the wound in his mouth again and flinches at the stabbing pain that nearly surprises him, just the same as the last time and the time before that. He can't stop. The human brain is weird.  
  
Although his brain is pretty scrambled right now.  
  
Multiple kicks to the head, assorted other forms of torture, roughly a week in this same empty concrete room—anyone would be off their game. He's probably allowed to be a bit scrambled.  
  
Speaking of torture, it's been a while since anyone has been down to visit him.  
  
Just then, he hears some commotion outside the door and he sighs heavily—right on cue. He tries to make his expression as uninterested as possible, looks up just in time to see the door bang open with more force than he's come to expect.  
  
And he can't see very well because one of his eyes is swollen completely shut and his vision in the other is kind of blurry, but that's definitely not one of his captors.  
  
Oh.  
  
"Lizzie?"  
  
(That's what he tries to say, anyway. His jaw is pretty swollen so it might not sound like much.)  
  
Distantly, he hears a voice that sounds like Donald say something about sitting tight, that the team needs to finish securing the building.  
  
He blocks it out, because all that matters is Lizzie walking towards him.  
  
She drops to her knees in front of where he's slumped against the wall and reaches out, hands hovering without touching. They flutter here and there like she can't decide where to put them.  
  
It might be his vision, but it looks like she's shaking.  
  
That's odd.  
  
"We need to get you to a hospital." Her voice sounds odd, too.  
  
He shakes his head, though it's probably more of a loll to the side than anything else. "M'fine." He hates hospitals.  
  
"You're not fine, you're bleeding."  
  
"Tooth hole, s'bleeding," he agrees stupidly, closing his good eye. He's so tired.  
  
"I think your everything is bleeding."  
  
Why does her voice sound like that?  
  
Something presses lightly at the cut on his head, which has been bleeding sluggishly for hours now—at least it's had the courtesy to drip into the swollen-shut eye that he can't use anyway. She's dabbing at the cut, as if cleaning up that one spot will make any sort of difference.  
  
He opens his eyes to tell her not to bother, but then he sees she's mopping him up with her own sleeve, of all things.  
  
"No." He tugs her arm down clumsily, paws at the stain now on her cuff.  
  
"Red, stop, it's okay."  
  
He can't get the stain out—there's blood on his fingers, dripping from a few of his fingernails and some from where he was trying to put pressure on his leg earlier and probably some from the damn cut on his head that just won't stop-  
  
"It's only a shirt, Red, it doesn't matter."  
  
He's making it worse. Her shirt looks even worse now than before.  
  
His shoulders slump and he stares at the fabric clutched in his grip. "I ruined it."  
  
"I never really liked this shirt anyway." She tugs the sleeve away from him, presses it back against his head while her other hand finds his face, barely touching. Her thumb brushes lightly back and forth against his cheek.  
  
"And you haven't ruined anything."  
  
He stares and wonders how she found the one spot on his body that doesn't hurt.  
  
"You're here," he says. _Why are you here?_  
  
Her hand presses a bit more solidly against his cheek. "You really thought I wouldn't follow you?"  
  
"Dangerous," he mumbles. "Told you t'go away."    
  
She leans forward conspiratorially, gives him a smile that knocks the breath right out of him.  
  
"You should know by now that I don't actually listen to a word you say."  
  
She holds his gaze for a moment before glancing up to check his head beneath her sleeve.  
  
"This just doesn't want to stop bleeding, does it?"  
  
She backs away from him—he tries not to whimper in disappointment—and quickly pulls off the shirt she's been using to stem the bleeding, revealing a t-shirt underneath. The ruined shirt she folds over on itself a few times.  
  
"C'mere." She shifts to sit next to him against the wall, rearranging him so the less-mangled side of his head rests on her shoulder before she wraps her arms around him to hold the makeshift bandage back against the wound. "We'll have you fixed up in no time."  
  
He… might start crying.  
  
"So sorry, Lizzie."  
  
Her arms tighten around him.  
  
"I'm sorry, too."  
  
And even he isn't enough of a human disaster to classify the last few days as _worth it,_ but on the list of The Top Ten Things That Red Wants, getting a hug and a cuddle from Lizzie is damn close to the top.  
  
He settles a bit closer to her and shuts his eyes. Well, shuts his _eye_.  
  
"Red?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"…is that your tooth on the floor?"  
  
He can't help it.  
  
He presses his face into her neck and just _laughs._  
  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
  
Lizzie features heavily in The Top Ten Things That Red Wants—he's able to cross even more off the list in the following hours, items that just weeks ago he believed so heartrendingly far-fetched as to be impossible.  
  
She holds his hand in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, laces their fingers together tightly and doesn't let go until the ER doctors pull her away.  
  
When he's finally sutured, bandaged, and allowed to sleep following a thorough scan for severe head trauma, he drifts off to the sound of her voice at his side.  
  
She's there when he wakes up.  
  
She kisses him.  
  
"I'm so glad you're okay," she says.  
  
  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
  
  
He mentally throws the list away when she tells him that she loves him.  
  
(Nothing else can compare to that.)  
  
  
  
  
  
-

 

 

fin.

 

 

-

I'm currently accepting prompts, six words or less ([x](http://anextrapart.tumblr.com/ask)). Though I'm clearly not particularly efficient at filling said prompts, you're always welcome to send them along. I do keep a record of them all for when I have time to write, and maybe yours will be the one to spark some inspiration.

This prompt from: broken_hearted_bard


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